


To Please

by Canaan



Series: Major Arcana [14]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: AU, BDSM, Multi, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-02
Updated: 2011-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-14 08:28:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canaan/pseuds/Canaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm going out on a limb, here--is it a sex club?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a back-to-school present for Aibhinn. Very kindly beta'd by Wendymr, who kept me from making cultural errors. Takes place sometime after "Cabin Fever."
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own them; I just have radar. ;)

"How'd I get talked into this again?" the Doctor complains.

Jack grins, safely hidden behind one of the wardrobe racks. "You didn't like any of my suggestions," Rose's voice says. Not too surprising--they'd run for their lives enough recently that Rose was looking for a day off at a spa. "It was _your_ idea to have Jack pick. Besides, could be fun to go to a club."

Jack pulls a red satin bustier that looks like it was made for Rose's breasts off the rack and considers the black vinyl one next to it. He'd love to see her in the black, but he thinks it's probably too ambitious for a first attempt--his private bet with himself is on the red. In the end, he grabs them both and starts around the rack, pausing as he notices a pair of boots shoved to the back.

"You ask him what kind of club it is?" the Doctor says, darkly.

Upon inspection, the boots are great. They'll be perfect without stockings--which he's not sure he can talk her into--and leave a lovely stretch of flesh showing on the backs of her thighs. Just the thing to paint the picture he's looking for without screaming "bend me over and fuck me" to anyone else who might be appreciating the view. He hopes they fit her. "Hidrolz, 34th century," Rose says, promptly. "He's said somethin' before about a collar and a leash. 'm goin' out on a limb, here--is it a sex club?"

Jack chuckles to himself, grabbing the boots and forcing his way back out into the main part of the wardrobe room. "You think?" he asks, cheerfully. "Actually, it's not _technically_ a sex club--"

"BDSM is an erotic paraphilia," the Doctor interrupts, pedantically.

Rose smirks. Jack's not sure how she really feels about this, but he's been working up to it gradually, and she seems game enough to try. "And what's that when it's at home?" she asks.

He sits on the floor beside the chair she's perched on, dumping his recent acquisitions in his lap since hers is already full of skirts and stockings. He notices she's got the leash in her hand like a visual aid. It looks good there. "'Erotic paraphilia' means it's a kink," he translates. That can't surprise her too much, given the leash, and doesn't give the Doctor anything to react to. "'BDSM' is what they call it in your part of Earth and time period. It's three abbreviations, smashed together."

The Doctor's leaning against a wall and pretending not to pay attention. Rose looks down at the red bustier. "I knew _that_ bit. And what part of kink involves putting my tits on display like they were strawberries?" she asks, looking at the cups.

Bending puts the self-described anatomy at eye-level, and the tank top she's got on under her hoodie gives him a good view. Is she getting "strawberries" from the color? "I think I'd have gone 'cantaloupes,' instead," he says.

"Oi!" Rose exclaims, grabbing hold of his chin to force his eyes up higher. He grins at her, unrepentantly.

"Exhibitionism," the Doctor answers. "Which isn't any of those, but seems to go hand-in-hand for some of you apes." He launches himself from his perch to pace around the wardrobe.

Rose looks over at the Doctor and Jack draws his chin back, regretfully. "I know the S&M part," she tells them, dropping her hand. She looks down at Jack again. "I asked you about this thing with pain and you said it doesn't hurt, exactly."

 _Not in any way I don't want._ "It's more complicated than that," he agrees, setting bustiers and boots to one side and getting to his knees. He holds up the black bustier by way of comparison. She pulls a face. "Either one would look fabulous on you," he tells her.

"Says the bloke who plans on wearing a leash."

"His head's in the right place," the Doctor says, which is more grace than Jack thought he might get on the subject. He's really not sure how the Time Lord will handle other people looking at his partners, but he knows it'll be harder around Rose. No pun intended. "Need to keep you from attractin' the wrong kind of attention."

Rose blinks. "You think I'm not goin' to be attractin' attention in that?"

The Doctor grins. "I can guess exactly how much," he says, ruefully.

"B&D is bondage and discipline," Jack interrupts.

Rose eyes the boots. He hands one to her for inspection. "I do know this stuff--I'm not twelve. Bondage is you gettin' tied up," she says, considering the low heel on them. "Not sure what it has to do with wearing lingerie in public, but I've seen other girls do that in other clubs. And discipline is what happens if you screw up."

"If the bottom or sub screws up, yeah, there may be discipline as a result," Jack agrees. Her eyes come back to him, a little troubled. "You'll see that kind of thing at this club. Doesn't mean you have to be involved unless you want to."

She sets the boot down. "You plannin' to need punishin'?" she asks, dryly. Jack tries not to react to that very happy mental image.

Several meters away, the Doctor starts fiddling with a wardrobe rack. "Discipline's also training," the Time Lord says. "And doin' what you're told--not that you'd know anything about that."

"Oi!" Rose complains. Jack manages not to grin, but only just.

"'Don't wander off,'" the Doctor says. "How hard is that?" He shakes his head. "Following orders also goes to D&s--domination and submission."

Rose makes a rude noise. "Is this meant to be an A-level in Unusual Sex Stuff? I don't understand why you're so worried. Jack likes it when we're pushy. It's just . . . weird to think about bein' that kind of pushy in public." She shrugs.

Jack looks at the Doctor. The Doctor looks at the wardrobe bar. Rose has asked some intelligent questions about what she invariably refers to as "Jack's kinks," but something's missing. As much fun as it'd be to go clubbing with his partners, he wouldn't dare take Rose to Hidrolz unless she really understands this bit. Not that the Doctor would let him--it's asking for trouble. "I want you to," he says. "I take your orders, or his. And everyone in that club will know it, even without the leash."

She shakes her head, and he can't blame her. You can't really explain that kind of radar. "What do you mean?" she asks. "How?"

What he needs is a demonstration. He grins, suddenly. "Pretend with me for a minute. If I tell you I to take off your shirt, because I want to watch you play with those lovely breasts, what do you say to me?"

She turns a delicate shade of pink. "That's embarassin' and you're lucky I don't slap you, Jack Harkness," she says, awkwardly amused.

Jack chuckles and leans forward to kiss the side of her neck. "Yeah, I figured I'd get somethin' like that. Shame--I'd love to see just how you like to touch your own--"

"Jack!" Rose says, sharply--but she's more annoyed than embarrassed. The Doctor snorts in something that might be amusement and leaves the wardrobe bar in place, examining a chest of drawers, one by one, instead.

Jack grins at their reactions. "But what if it wasn't me? What if the Doctor said it, instead?"

Rose doesn't quite follow. "What, you mean . . . ?"

Jack decides to push his luck. He looks at the Doctor. The Doctor doesn't seem to see. He finds that the third drawer sticks and starts fussing with it. A silent minute passes before the Time Lord gives in. Still not looking at them, he says, "Take off your shirt, Rose. You have fantastic breasts. I want you to play with them while I watch."

Rose is decidedly pinker, now. She's looking at the Doctor with her arms wrapped tightly around her ribs. Her nipples form tight little buds that distend the fabric of her tank top quite clearly. Jack suspects she hasn't noticed. "That's still embarassin'," she says, but the tart words have a breathy quality to them.

Hell, the Doctor's words made _Jack's_ nerves sit up and take notice, and they weren't even aimed at him. "But you actually thought about it for a second, didn't you?" he probes, gently.

She glares not-quite-at him: fierce, but not wanting to meet his eyes. "'m used to listening to him," she says, annoyed.

 _I don't know if this is your thing, sweetheart_ Jack thinks. _And if it is, I don't really think you'll switch. Except for him--he brings out that desire to put your belly in the air and bare your throat. The problem is, somebody else might think you'd do that for_ them _, too._ Jack grins in the face of her glare. "Everybody listens to him," he says. "I don't know if the Doctor really plays this game, but he understands it. No one in that club is gonna try to give _him_ orders."

Rose looks at the Doctor, who doesn't comment, correcting the angle of the right-hand drawer slide. She pulls a face. "But they might, me?" she concludes.

Jack chuckles and puts the loop of the leash in the palm of her hand. "Some people mistake lack of experience for . . . " He fishes for the right words--the ones that will make sense to her. "A desire to please."

Rose looks down at the leash like it's easier than looking at his face. She's not quite comfortable with this, no matter how worldly-wise she feels about sex, but her natural curiosity is winning out. She toys with the loop in her hand. "So this keeps anyone from tryin' to give me orders, 'cos you'll be obeying mine?"

Jack's breath catches in his throat, his eyes lingering on her fingers as she plays with the leather. He bends and kisses the delicate skin at the inside of her wrist. "I want to," he agrees.

She looks down and catches his eyes, her own just faintly disturbed. "Like what?" she asks.

Jack straightens up, keeping the eye contact. "Whatever you like," he says.

She bites her lip. "What if I tell you t' do somethin' you don't want?"

 _Unlikely,_ Jack thinks. Rose is so intent on him that she startles a little when the Doctor steps around behind them both. Jack feels the brush of cool fingers at the nape of his neck as something heavy wraps around his throat. "That's why we talk about it ahead of time," the Time Lord says, as he fastens the buckle of the collar. "If you're holdin' that leash, part of your job's to take care of Jack. He might want to do things that're stupid--"

"Hey!" Jack manages protests, distractedly wondering how the Time Lord defines "stupid."

"--or that'd make you unhappy or annoy me. It's your job to choose, Rose--you're keepin' him out of trouble."

"Even if he wants to get into it?" she asks, half-amused.

"Especially that kind," the Doctor agrees, resting one heavy hand on Jack's shoulder.

There's a dirty look waiting for the Doctor at the back of Jack's eyes, but it can't seem to escape past the way the Doctor's touch makes his heartrate pick up. Rose rolls her eyes. "Okay," she says, half-amused, playing the leash through her fingers till she finds the other end. "So tell me what kind of things might happen, so I know what not to let you do."

"I'm not--" Jack starts. Rose reaches toward him and clips the leash to the ring on the collar and the words stick in Jack's throat. His mouth snaps shut and he closes his eyes. It takes that little for her to draw a reaction from him. "I'm doomed," he mutters.

The Doctor chuckles. "Good thing you meant to be, lad."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I didn't really set out to write our OT3's adventures in BDSM, but there was an outcry for more, so that's what you're getting. If you read the first chapter, you know more or less where this is going. I know I have some readers who're very pleased that I manage to write BDSM in such a way that they're okay with it. I don't know that I've managed that, here--to do this chapter right, I have to push some things. So . . . you've been warned, and I know you're all grown-ups in your particular countries, so I trust you to skim past if you're not comfortable with something.
> 
> Beta read by the amazing Aibhinn. Disclaimer: I don't own them; I just have radar. ;)

The matte-black skirt is the shortest Rose has ever worn, but she's seen Shireen in shorter. It's just a little nerve-wracking because _she's_ the one wearing it. As long as she doesn't bend over, it's not too bad--she checked in a full-length mirror. Besides, it'd given her an excuse to make Jack wear those shiny black trousers that lace up both sides, so you can see a thin band of skin showing clear from his ankles to his waist. She'd thought about a shirt, but Jack said there'd be people wearing less at the club, so it was up to her. And if it was up to her, she was showing him off. Just thinking about it makes her grin and catch her tongue between her teeth.

The Doctor doesn't look at either of them, so she knows he's appreciating the show. If he really _looked_ at them, Rose would know they weren't dressed to be eye-catching enough. She'd wanted to wear glitter, too--glitter was right for clubs, yeah? Even in the 34th century?--but Jack had said something about attracting the wrong kind of attention.

As opposed to the kind she'll be attracting in the red bustier. It's like her tits have come up to say hello. She keeps noticing them in her field of vision right up until they enter the club. The Doctor's getting the three of them in with psychic paper and credit chits while Rose watches a blue-skinned woman (or was that just body paint?) wearing nothing but a loincloth and strategically-placed stickers on her way out. Rose is still staring when somebody runs a glowing green stamp across her hand. She looks back over to see Jack get the same stamp, but the Doctor gets one that's was blue. "There a difference?" she asks as they pass through the entry and into the first room of the club.

It's the same kind of dim as most clubs she's been in, though the lighting's a bit different. "Green's a clean bill of health," Jack says, cheerfully, looking around. "Scanner in the entryway--the last thing a place like this wants is a quarantine because somebody passed some kind of weird germs to half the patrons."

"So what's blue?" There are semi-circular booths around the edges of the room, some open and some walled off by what looks like either opaque or frosted glass.

"Means my physiology's too sophisticated for your primitive scanners," the Time Lord says from behind her.

"Shame there's so little of it on display," Jack says, leering.

"Oi! Physiology, not anatomy," the Doctor corrects, giving Jack's backside an irritated swat.

Rose grins. "Probably shouldn't do that if you want him to _stop_ ," she says.

The Doctor aims a glare at her. "Cheeky," he growls.

The center of this room's given over to comfortable-looking sofas and obscure pieces of furniture she has no names for, except there's mostly people tied to them. There's a doorway toward the back that's curtained, and louder music issues from it. The atmosphere in the room is low-key, with a number of people sitting around with drinks and talking, despite the overtly sexual behaviors of the other patrons.

"For a sex club," she says, thoughtfully, "I don't see a whole lot of actual sex going on." Which is almost a relief--she's not quite sure how she'd feel about watching. There's a girl--or she thinks it's a girl--getting shagged over a table at one of the booths, but there's actually remarkably little to see.

"Oh, I kind of like the scenery," Jack says, with a smirk. "But no--a lot of people in this time and place like their shagging private, even if almost everything else is on display. That's why some of the booths are screened."

It's informative, but Jack sounds too much like . . . well, Jack, and not at all the way he sounds when they've got him blindfolded in bed. Which means she's not being pushy enough. She stops where she is and turns to look at him. "You the tour guide?" she asks. "I thought you wanted us to own you tonight. I'm not sure you can have it both ways."

He blinks. The grin fades. The Doctor's behind him a few paces and a little to one side, which is just as well--it means Jack can't see the Time Lord smirking. "I . . . " He stops. "You're right, Rose." They'd talked about titles, which sounded silly to her. She didn't feel like a "mistress," and "ma'am" was a soldier. So she was just Rose--but she'd told him he'd better remember it.

There was a question in his eyes, but she couldn't read it and he managed not to ask. She smiled at that. He really did want this. "I want to have a look around," she said. "When I stop to look at something, I want you to kneel beside me."

"Yes, Rose," he agrees.

She grins over her shoulder at the Doctor. It's all a game, but it's kind of funny to see Captain Jack Harkness all subdued and quiet. "So . . . " she asks, "is it okay to stare at people in here, or is that rude?" She looks at Jack for an answer.

"If they don't want you to look, they'll be behind screens or in private rooms. This room's just people relaxing and enjoying themselves. The next room has the dance floor and any demonstrations that are going on. There's a little shop off the hallway in-between." He's quiet, he's informative, and his eyes are taking in the scenery behind her. It puts a small, pleased expression on his face.

She wonders if she should encourage that look, or tell him to stop. How pushy is too pushy, and how much isn't enough? "There's a little shop in a sex club?" she wonders.

The Doctor shrugs. "Could be."

"Wonder who thought of that. Sex toys and whips and chains, do you think?"

He shrugs again, but she can tell he's trying not to smirk, even in the dim light. "You want to go look?"

She grins. "After I've looked at what people are doing, maybe. If I mean to buy anything, I want ideas, first."

The Doctor sighs. "You and shopping. Forget apes--it's more like magpies and shiny things."

"Oi!" She glares at him, and then notices Jack's grinning. "You're agreein' with him?" she asks.

He drops his eyes, but he can't quite _not_ grin. "No, Rose," he says.

She smirks. "Are you lying to me, Jack?" He doesn't answer. "What do I do with you if you lie to me? I won't have that."

"I'm sorry, Rose," he says. Still not keeping the grin off his face.

She looks up at the Doctor. "Lost cause, ain't it?"

It's not really a question, but he answers. "Probably. Got to admit, he's caught between a rock and a hard place. Probably enjoying it, too."

Her eyes widen a little. _Punishment_ , she remembers. A no-win situation might make Jack pretty happy. Well, she wants to do things that make him happy--when she's ready. He wanted her to be in charge, she's going to be in charge. "I won't have it, Jack," she repeats softly, tugging just a little on the leash, so the collar moves against his neck.

His breath catches. "Yes, Rose," he says.

***

  
The club's a complicated stew of pheromones and human sweat. Well, mostly human, though Hidrolz is well-known enough in this time that there's a bit of non-human traffic mixed in. Humans are social animals, and they need places like this to congregate. Though congregating around an act at least nominally related to procreation seems counter-intuitive, even for humans, and he can't imagine anyone wanting to be that vulnerable in a semi-public space.

But he's sure Jack can.

Jack follows Rose as she looks around the room. She's right--there's not a whole lot of sex going on here, not where it's visible, at least. But there's a whole lot of pain and power play, and if she means to punish Jack later, there's no shortage of ideas. She started this outing mostly amused at playing Jack's domme (though she'd quite enjoyed dressing Jack in those irritating trousers. Between Jack's trousers and the amount of Rose Tyler on display, it rubs the Doctor the wrong way any time somebody looks at either one of them. And that happens rather a lot), but her natural curiosity's taken over. Jack kneels beside her each time she stops. Sometimes she asks him a question, and he answers quite correctly, except for his eyes.

Jack's enjoying the hell out of this. Which is, of course, the idea, but he doesn't have to look so smug. And his eyes do wander. He's enjoying all the men and women and those who're walking some line in-between in their dress-up clothing, which is usually scant or tight or both. It sets the Doctor's nerves on edge--more because he's sure it's not innocent.

Rose watches as a man's tied up by his partner, or at least playmate, the ropes starting at the ankles and winding all the way around and up to his shoulders. The woman gags him, kisses his forehead, and then sits comfortably on his thighs, chatting with her friends while she idly strokes his cock and listens to the strangled sounds that get past the gag. The Doctor sees the tiny signs in face and posture as Rose and Jack both react to the display. "Would you like that?" Rose asks, curiously.

"With you . . . the ropes, yeah," Jack agrees. He swallows, but it's not fear--it's arousal. "Gags make me nervous, but I might be willing to try."

She looks down at him. "And the rest?"

He laughs, softly. "You already know how I feel about begging," he teases. The woman sitting on her trussed partner overhears and grins. She waves at him, just her fingertips. He grins back, and oh, that is not an appropriate look on his face. The Doctor glares, even though Jack's not paying attention.

"Oi!" Rose says, nudging Jack with the toe of one high boot. "No flirting."

"I wasn't flirting!" he complains.

"Are you arguin' with me?"

Jack swallows his first answer. "No, Rose," he says.

"Lying _and_ arguing," she points out, moving on. Jack gets to his feet and follows her.

The atmosphere's a bit uncomfortable. Fascinating, but uncomfortable. Humans are creatures of their passions, driven by need. He observes it--analyzes it from the outside--but he doesn't feel it. The need is driven by their short, hot, brilliant little lives. He'll never _need_ like that, as much as he _wants_ to enjoy every minute of Rose Tyler, because she'll have so few.

But this place is a temple, not to _need_ , but to _desire_ , and that, he understands. It isn't considered proper for a Time Lord to yield to desire--whims, yes; desires, no. One might have them, but one chooses to be above such things. The Doctor hadn't used to care about that rule any more than the others with which his people had tried to bind him, and since he's surrendered to Rose and Jack, he's begun to allow himself to appreciate desire. It's like a fine single-malt--to be savoured, but not something you indulge in all the time; not something you want to let overwhelm you.

Even if he'd like to drag Jack's gaze off the other club-goers almost as much as he'd like to drag their eyes off Jack's trousers.

Rose stops again, looking at a woman cuffed at the wrists and hanging from a hook off a sturdy structure shaped like a doorframe. She's wearing a skirt--and something interesting under it, by the way her hips twitch. She's as shirtless as Jack, and her breasts are compressed by some type of clear bands around the outside curves. They leave her skin flushed hotly pink and the exposed flesh protruding a bit. One nipple and the surrounding skin are decorated with small suckers and clips.

Jack kneels beside Rose and they watch as the woman's partner holds out another clip for inspection, this one with beads hanging from its ends. "Please, Mistress," the bound woman whispers. Her hips twitch again.

The mistress smiles. "I don't believe you," she says. "I'm sure you can beg more prettily than that."

The bound woman moans. "Please, mistress," she babbles, "I really want it, I do. Put it on me." The mistress strokes her lover's nipple with the end of the clip, opening it and letting it just begin to bite before drawing it away. "Please. I want you to . . . "

The clip strokes across the constrictive band and down a fluttering stomach. "Are you sure?" the mistress says. "Because there are other lovely places I could clip this." She brushes the little thing just above the waist of the skirt. "It's got quite a pinch to it, and the beads make it heavy, you know."

The Doctor wonders if Jack and Rose see the small flutter of fear as the woman's pulse picks up. "No no no," she whimpers, but she doesn't use words like "oatmeal" or "tea cakes" or "countergrav," that are so out of place her mistress would know to really stop. "On my nipple. Oh, please, I'll be ever so good . . . " As the clip finally closes over the hardened bud, the bound woman lets out a soft cry that's not pleasure or pain, but maybe some of both. Her hips twitch again.

"Ow," Rose whispers, under her breath. She looks down at Jack. "Or not?" she wonders.

Definitely not ow, not by the way Jack reacted. "Or were you just admiring the way everything bounced?" the Doctor needles him.

Jack gives him an injured look that's not entirely without humor.

"Well?" Rose asks.

Jack looks down. "That's not . . . really what I was looking at," he says.

***

  
The lighting in the little shop is annoyingly bright after the soft dimness of the club's front room. Jack's been told to keep his eyes down after they've strayed some places Rose doesn't care for. He barely manages not to look up to see Rose's reaction as she pauses just inside the doorway. "It's a bit . . . more than I expected," she says, and begins walking around the shop, slowly. "The place I bought my vibrator was not like this." Jack tries to let the small bit of nervousness the remark engenders--that something she sees might push Rose past her comfort-level--flow through him without sticking. It's ridiculous to worry about a woman who faces down Daleks, evil overlords, and occasionally her mum, getting upset over sex toys. Even kinky sex toys, which are less common in the time she's from.

That doesn't really stop him, but he reminds himself that he wants her to be in charge right now. Which means he has to let the Doctor do any protecting, because Jack can't be half-protective of her and still yield to her will. One type of headspace prevents the other.

"Thirteen centuries later," the Doctor points out. "Humans being brilliant again, only this time, about one of your favorite obsessions."

"'m not obsessed," Rose says, tartly.

 _No, but we keep encouraging you,_ Jack thinks, amused. He keeps his eyes on Rose's boots. Not looking around seems to help keep him stay focused. At least a little.

The Doctor laughs. He says, "Rose, you're in a social gathering place that revolves around sex. It's one of many such establishments in a city that's known for them. Doesn't have to be _you_ in particular, but it definitely looks like an obsession."

Rose stops in front of a display. Jack kneels beside her, looking at his knees. The Doctor steps up behind her, close enough to touch, and rests one hand on Jack's head, fingers twining through his lover's hair. Jack lets his eyes drift closed. "What exactly is that meant for?" Rose asks, with a peculiar note in her voice. "It looks almost . . . furry?"

Jack hears the Doctor murmuring to her, very softly, but he can't quite make out what's said. "I'm not sure how I feel about that," she says. Her tone of voice is fascinating--strained and maybe aroused at the same time.

The Doctor chuckles. "You could buy one and find out," he points out.

She brushes it off. "We're not here for me. I'm wonderin' about punishing Jack. He lies, he argues, and he's lookin' at what everybody's got on display." Jack's breath catches in his throat. He's not sure what Rose Tyler's 21st-century idea of punishment is, but he's interested in finding out.

The Doctor makes a rude noise. "Since he likes that, are you sure he's been _good_ enough to deserve punishment?"

Jack doesn't open his eyes, because he knows if he does, he'll look up at her. "What do you think, Jack?" Rose asks thoughtfully. "You really haven't been good--kept tryin' to run things, and then couldn't keep your attention on us. I'm not sure how much you really want this." Her small hand curls under his chin, raising his face.

He leaves his eyes closed, and she doesn't ask him to open them. He _hasn't_ been good, not in the way he would if he were really, fully in the kind of headspace this game demands. He also hasn't been bad _enough_ to provoke punishment of another kind, though he's rather been working at driving the Doctor up a tree. "I'm sorry," he says, finally. "I want to . . . _belong_ to you, and I haven't been doing a good job of remembering that."

"Suppose I'll have to think about it," Rose says. "Right now, we're goin' to look around. I'm not sure what half this stuff is, but I think I see whips in the back corner." She starts walking, which has Jack opening his eyes and getting quickly to his feet to follow.

"You want a whip?" the Doctor asks, amused.

"Probably not," Rose says, almost absently. "But I want ideas, and I'm bettin' there'll be other things in the same place. It's like going to a market and lookin' for the flour to find the oil, 'cos it's easier to spot the flour. Might not be baking today, but we probably will, sometime." The matter-of-fact tone of her voice offsets Jack's mental vertigo over the baking metaphor, though it doesn't keep him from smirking.

The Doctor notices. "Need _something_ to take that smirk off his face, yeah," he agrees.

Rose giggles. "Well, he _does_ want to be punished," she points out as she comes to a stop. Jack kneels. " _Some_ of this looks familiar. What do you suppose _that_ is, though?"

"Meant to do complicated things to nerve endings," the Doctor says, dryly.

There are small sounds as Rose handles the packaging. Reading a label? Jack wonders, and manages not to look up. "Yeah . . . maybe not this one. Not without askin', first." That only makes him even more desperately curious. "Here, this looks simpler. And it'd leave cute little hearts on his bum."

Jack hadn't expected there was something Rose Tyler could do that would really embarrass him, but he could pass on anything involving "cute." "I don't even know what it is, but no hearts," he mutters. "Please."

There was a moment of silence from his partners. "Jack," Rose says, "you said you want to belong to us. The way I understand it, that means we make the decisions unless you say the safe word, yeah?"

Jack swallows against a half-instinctive desire to please her and a nagging fear of "cute little hearts." "Yes, Rose," he says.

"Don't seem to remember that well, you," the Doctor says, softly.

Jack's breath catches and his cock twitches in close confines of his trousers. "I'm sorry, Doctor," he says.

"Come with me, Jack," Rose says. Jack responds automatically, getting to his feet and following, eyes still downcast. He sees the shop counter before he kneels. The Doctor stands on his opposite side, his lovers bracketing him in a way that doesn't allow him to look at the countertop, even if he tries. "'scuse me," Rose says, "I need some help."

An unfamiliar voice answers her. "Of course. What can I do for you?" _Shop clerk_ , Jack thinks.

Rose sets something on the counter with a light sound of impact. She combs her hands through Jack's hair. "I need to remind this one who he belongs to. 'm lookin' for ideas."

"Well, a tag with the owner's name is traditional," the clerk says. "We've got some nice ones." Small, metallic clinks accompany merchandise displayed for Rose's review.

"Property of the Doctor and Rose?" she wonders. She's doing that thing where she grins with her tongue between her teeth--Jack swears he can hear it in her voice. "And hang it from his collar?"

The clerk says, "Collars, harnesses, zips, and piercings are all pretty common. With the collar, he wouldn't be able to see it, so I don't know if that's what you're looking for. We have piercing kits." Piercings are a bad idea--they tend to get ripped out in pub brawls. Which doesn't stop Jack's body from reacting to the thought of the Doctor's hands holding the needle. He hears the clerk shuffling things on the counter. "Temporary or permanent."

"I don't . . . think I'm ready for that," Rose decides. "Any other suggestions? Bit new to this, I'm afraid."

"Hmm." The clerk moves around behind the counter. "Had you thought about something like this?"

"Is that . . . " There's a familiar pause as Rose re-organizes that thought. "Doctor, is that meant to . . . "

There's a pause. "Right shape for it," the Doctor says. Jack wishes he could see what they're looking at.

"Here're some other choices," the clerk says. There's more shuffling of things on the counter. "The way they're shaped means any of these will stay put. Make him wear one for the rest of the night and he's unlikely to move without thinking about it."

"And remembering why he's wearin' it," the Doctor says, darkly. Jack's throat is suddenly dry, and his trousers have gone all the way to uncomfortable.

"And I do like seein' that look he gets on his face," Rose agrees. _What look?_ Jack wonders, desperately. "I'm just wonderin' if that's over some line."

"Some subs respond well to humiliation," the clerk says.

Rose turns a little. Jack's glad he's looking at the floor, because he knows she's looking at him and he's not sure what's on his face. "That's what a safe word is _for_ ," the Doctor says, quietly amused. "If you get close to some line, he'll say the word, and it stops before anybody can get upset. But I suspect our Jack's up for it."

Rose strokes his hair. "I do like to see that look on your face," she murmurs.

Jack swallows. "Yes, Rose," he says.

There's the soft click of Rose's fingernail tapping the counter. She tells the clerk, "We'll take this one."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I didn't really set out to write our OT3's adventures in BDSM, but there was an outcry for more, so that's what you're getting. This chapter doesn't push as far as the last, but again--you've been warned and you're grown-ups. If it gets close to some line that bothers you, please skim on past; I won't be offended. Beta'd by Aibhinn.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just have radar. ;)

An opaque screen disappears from one of the booths. The Doctor spots his partners as Rose draws her hand away from the screen controls she's just finished cycling. He makes his way around the edge of the room to the semi-circular booth she's chosen. She's sitting on the edge of the table with her feet crossed at the ankles. The Doctor can't avoid an awareness of _exactly_ what that will do to the back of her skirt. He'd caught a flash of red lace knickers, earlier, when she leaned on the shop counter to talk to the clerk. He doesn't think she noticed, and he hadn't wanted to draw attention to it--hers, or anyone else's--but the flash of unconcealed buttock and the scrap of lace had affected him in a way he found quite ridiculous. Why that little peek should be more distracting than the whole show, he simply can't fathom.

Jack kneels facing Rose, still on her leash. At a guess, he told her where to find the controls that screen the booth. The booths, the Doctor notices, look comfortable, with upholstered benches that look clean and smell it, too. And the screens are a nice touch. Actually, the whole club is tasteful, as these things go. He has to wonder how much of this is what Jack would choose, left to his own devices, and how much is a deliberate bid for surroundings that Rose will react well to.

The Doctor joins his partners, setting the bag with Rose's purchases on the table. Rose reaches for him, and he bends to kiss her, savouring the contact and the way her small, soft fingers stroke the back of his neck. A half-smothered groan tells him Jack's watching them. The Doctor sucks at her bottom lip gently and tries not to think about the blossoming breasts pressed up against him, because they'd make a fantastic weight in his hands, but he's got no desire to let anyone see Rose being groped in public--not even by him. When he draws away, reluctantly, she grins at him.

Jack's eyes are very correctly back on Rose's boots. The lad is . . . settling. Not settled, and certainly not gone down to that point where he goes non-verbal and takes his partners' direction blindly--of which the Doctor approves, since they're not in a setting where he can be absolutely sure that circumstance won't suddenly require them to run for their lives. But settling, nonetheless: The more Rose demands from Jack, and the more joy--or, at least, entertainment--she gets from it, the easier and more pleasant the lad finds it to obey her.

The Doctor isn't sure whether Rose is genuinely enjoying having Jack on her leash, or is just amused by the whole thing. Human psychology stops operating in predicable ways when sex is involved.

She looks up at him now with mischief in her eyes and her tongue caught in her teeth in that way that makes the Doctor want to run his own down the cleft between her breasts. He fiddles with his brain's chemical production a bit. "You're right," she tells him, "he _hasn't_ been good enough. But we can't let him get away with that kind of behavior in front of all these people."

She's found her line, Rose has, and she's going to walk it. "I suppose not," the Doctor says.

"So this isn't to punish you, Jack," Rose says as she picks up the bag and peers into it. "This is to show all the other people here that we won't put up with your cheek." She draws out the heavy leather slapper, with its heart-shaped cut-outs.

Her voice draws Jack's eyes up to look at the device. The dismay that crosses his features is comical. He swallows and mutters something about the hearts that the Doctor's quite sure Rose's human ears can't make out. "Enough of that," the Doctor says, firmly.

Rose lays the slapper on the table beside her, where Jack all but _has_ to look at it. "Sorry, Doctor," he says. "Sorry, Rose."

The Doctor harrumphs and manages not to grin as he takes a seat at the edge of the booth. Rose slides off the table and takes a half-step so she's standing beside Jack. "That's better," she says. "Stand up, Jack."

Jack comes obligingly to his feet. When Rose nudges his hand away from his side, he moves it. She begins working the laces out of one side of his trousers. Jack's eyes fall closed, and he folds both hands across the back of his neck.

The Doctor's sure there must be a faster way out of those trousers, but whatever it is, it's not easily visible and Rose isn't looking. She parts the shiny black of the trousers along the line of flesh at Jack's left hip, slowly exposing his leg almost to the knee. The ever-growing expanse of skin is tantalizing in some way that entirely bared flesh isn't. He's not the only one to find it so, either: Rose is flushed with arousal, and they have an audience. The Time Lord's fingers itch to trigger the screen, hiding his partners from other eyes, but Rose has made a point to Jack that this is about his behavior in front of _other people_ , so the Doctor restrains his natural disgruntlement and tries to remind himself it could be worse. After all, they'd determined before they ever arrived that no one should lose any clothing here except Jack. None of the further bits of Rose he wants to see will be on display to anyone but her partners.

The laces on the other side go even more slowly, with Rose casting frequent glances at Jack's face and giving the Doctor amused looks at whatever she sees. The Doctor scowls in return, his eyes firmly on his lovers. Frankly, seeing other people watching them makes him want to grab his partners, run the screen opaque, and claim them thoroughly enough that no one else in this club will even _think_ about looking at them. The number of titillated eyes on Jack's arse makes him feel . . .

Possessive. Rassillon!--Jack's right. He's possessive--not that he'll ever let his partners hear him admit it. He resists the urge to growl and concentrates on suppressing the production of a couple of critical hormones. Or tries to.

The front of Jack's trousers falls down in tandem with the back, and whatever else is going on inside his head, Jack's enjoying this: erections don't lie.

Of course, with his eyes closed, Jack also doesn't have to look at the slapper with its "cute little hearts."

***

  
It's easier to breathe with his eyes closed. There's a little hit of adrenaline at knowing Rose is going to play that slapper over his skin in full view of anyone who cares to watch, but most of what's singing through Jack's system right now is pure, unadulterated desire--because this is all Rose's idea. "Bend forward, Jack," she says. "Over the table."

Her hand in the small of his back guides him, making him bend so he's lying on the table to about the waist, leaving his arse properly exposed for her. He unlaces his fingers and moves his hands from the back of his neck to the table in front of him, folding his arms together in such a way that he can rest his forehead on them comfortably. He shivers as a light touch plays over his bum and thighs, almost tickling. He shivers and whimpers. "Is that a good noise or a bad noise, Jack?" Rose murmurs. "I can never tell."

It surprises a short, shallow laugh out of him. "Um. Yes?" he tries.

"Suppose that'll have t' do," she says. The slapper comes down on his arse, the noise startling as the second flap of heavy leather cracks across the first, the whole making light but definitive contact with his flesh. He gasps softly, and Rose asks, "Is it supposed to do that?"

"Yeah," the Doctor answers her. "Sounds worse than it is. Look."

Rose looks with her fingers, apparently, running her hand over his arse where the slapper made contact. "Huh. Not bad. I suppose it takes some practice." He moans at her touch and lets the table take much of his weight. The slapper comes down a couple more times, with varying speed and force as she tries it out. Each blow finds a new patch of flesh, until she gets some result that she likes. Jack rather approves of it, too. "Mmm. That's better," she mutters--mostly to herself, Jack thinks.

The weight of the slapper isn't much--he's played much rougher than this--and the blasted little hearts actually leave a nice sting around the edges of the cut-outs. His skin feels warm as more blood flows to it, each sharp little blow landing with a force that doesn't so much feel good or feel bad--it just _feels_. His hips are twitching and he's panting slightly when the slapper stops. Rose rubs the palm of her hand over her handiwork and then . . . bites him. Fairly hard. Probably over a little heart. He moans, helplessly, and barely retains enough dignity to avoid humping the table. Her laughter is low and throaty and quite delighted.

He's left, then, with his reddened arse hanging out of what passes for trousers in full view of the sapients in club. Covered in who knows how many heart-shaped marks. But it's Rose's idea, and he's content--more than content--to leave it in her hands. He can hear Rose off to one side, talking quietly with the Doctor, who finally says, "Setting 2287--opening tightly-sealed packaging."

Some indefinable amount of time--probably a few minutes, but he won't swear to it--passes before he hears Rose's boots approach. "Jack, spread your feet apart a little." Jack steps his feet apart a short space. "A little more."

"Yes, Rose," Jack says, complying. He ends up with his feet not uncomfortably-far apart, more exposed, more embarrassed, and more turned on than he was a minute ago. He flinches at the touch of cold lube sliding slickly down between his cheeks. Rose parts them with her fingers and something comes to rest right there at his anus in a way that reminds him just how vulnerable he is. But the Doctor is watching, and Jack leaves himself in Rose's hands. The touch is distracting--arousing, but not quite enough sensation. He makes a frustrated sound, but doesn't move.

"You're _ours_ , Jack," Rose says. His heart tightens at the words. "Every time you take a step . . . every time you _breathe_ for the rest of the night, I want you t' remember that. You belong to _us_." She pauses. Jack wraps her words around himself like a favorite quilt and waits. "You want this, because you love belonging to us."

Jack's not sure he's wanted anything more than this, this feeling part of his partners, since he was young enough for idealism. "Please, Rose," he whispers. "Please."

"We love you, Jack." He relaxes, enjoying the sensation as she presses whatever it is she's bought inside him. The surface is hard and smooth and slick with lube. It's pleasantly thick, but not too much to take without prep, and the girth changes and changes again as the length of it presses into him. He can hear the amusement in Rose's voice as she adds, "Even if you are a bit odd." He gasps, helplessly, as it makes sudden, solid contact with his prostate. Some kind of a crosspiece settles firmly against the outside of his body and he groans. No, he won't be able to move without being aware of the devious little toy she's lodged inside him. Hell, he probably won't be able to _think_. He's not sure if he wants to shake her, shag her rotten, or get down on his knees and kiss her boots.

"What do you say, Jack?" the Doctor says, quietly.

Jack's having a hard time saying _anything_ at the moment. He tries to come up with two or three brain cells to work with. "Thank you, Rose," he says, finally.

Rose pats his bum fondly. "Goes without sayin', I think, but you're to leave that where it is until one of us tells you otherwise," she says.

"Yes, Rose," he agrees.

"You're also not to touch yourself," the Doctor says. "Half the people in this room know exactly what else is under those trousers, now. They're going to watch you suffer." The Time Lord sounds almost amused . . . the part of him that doesn't sound like he's waiting--and not patiently--to get Jack and Rose back to the TARDIS and shag one or the other or both through a mattress.

"Yes, Doctor," Jack says.

"You can stand up, now, Jack," Rose says. He does, the motion shifting the toy inside him and causing him to grit his teeth against a very undignified moan. He lets his hands rest on the tabletop, keeping them out of her way as she begins lacing him back into his trousers. His eyes open, and he blinks vaguely at her as she finishes tying both sets of laces at his waist. She's smiling at him, and her upturned lips beg to be kissed. He bends to do that thing, unable to squirm into the pleasurable pressure inside his body and unable to escape it, either. Rose's lips are soft under his, the tip of her tongue playing lightly with his own.

She grins as she pulls away. "So . . . can I send you to get us drinks like that?" she asks.

His eyes half-close of their own accord and he bites his lip just thinking about it. He's _theirs_. They own him, and it's exactly what he wanted. There's only one right answer. "Yes, Rose," he says.

It'll be a slow, perfect torture, walking over to the bar and back.

***

  
Rose gives the loo an 8.5. Clean enough, equipped with recognizable toilet paper, toilets made for human use, and private stalls. It loses a few points for being an all-persons loo, rather than a ladies', but that's one of those things she's got used to when she's in the future--well, future to when she was born, anyway. As she washes her hands, she notices people of two or more sexes and at least two species. She rather thinks another pair are shagging in one of the stalls, which seems ridiculous in a place like this, but she's not going to be the one to tell them so.

She dries her hands and steps outside the loo, waiting a moment for her eyes to adjust. The loo's not far from the bar--which makes it easier to recycle beer, she supposes. On the heels of that thought, she decides another drink might go down nicely. Jack opened an account for their table, and it's clear enough she's with him and the Doctor.

Or at least, clear enough to everybody but the tall bloke--he beats both Jack and the Doctor by a good six inches--in a black kilt and jumper. He looks at her breasts like they're not already spoken for, which makes her blush, but she and Jack are dressed like this partly to be looked at, so it's not like she can take offence. She leans on the edge of the bar and waits for the old-fashioned (and when did she start thinking like that?) live bartender to walk over. "Rum an' Coke, please," she orders.

"That's on my account," the tall bloke says.

She glances over at him, and then away. "No, it stays on ours, thanks," she tells the bartender, who nods at her and goes to the other end of the bar in search of a new bottle of rum.

The tall bloke eases toward her half a step and looks down at her. "Can't buy a lady a drink?" he asks.

 _Not if it's anything like the ones on your breath,_ Rose thinks, managing not to flinch. "Sorry, mate, my dance card's full."

He gives her a blank look, and she realizes--too late--that her slang's out of date for this century. "You've a lovely neck," he tells her. "It'd look even better wearing my collar."

She sighs. "Shove off. I'm taken." She looks at the bartender with relief as he turns up and places her drink on the bar. As she gathers it up, she notices the irritating bloke looking past her. She turns her head to see what's managed to draw him off and finds the Doctor three steps behind her and closing. The dark look on his face is usually reserved for threats to the integrity of timelines he likes. She'd hate to be the sole subject of it.

He steps right up behind her and lays an arm along her back, his fingers curving around her ribs. "Leave off," he tells the bloke, who backs away with a confused look on his face, like he knows he's just been out-classed but isn't sure how.

The Doctor walks with Rose back towards their booth, where Jack's sitting, trying not to squirm, and watching them with that slight rise to his eyebrows that's intent and just a little questioning. "I didn't need rescuing," Rose says. "Thing about bein' jeopardy-friendly is, I've learned how to _recognize_ jeopardy. That wasn't it. Just a bloke who had too many, who I hadn't walked away from, yet."

The Doctor's voice is tense when he replies. "I know."

She glances up at him. "Then what was all that?"

He stops at their booth and gently takes her drink from her hand, setting it on the table. "That was for me," he says, meeting her eyes with an intensity that steals her breath. "Wasn't goin' to watch him look at you like that." He bends to kiss her.

There's a force to the kiss like he wants to devour some critical part of her, and his arms go around her fiercely, his hands on her back controlling her body. She finds herself kissing back just as hard, surprised by his sudden shift from utter control to passionate heat. Her eyes close without her meaning them to, and the Doctor's hand is all over her breast, squeezing and kneading. She finds herself making small, aroused sounds into a cool mouth.

When the kiss breaks, she opens her eyes and discovers she's lying flat on her back on one of the booth's benches with no memory of getting there. The Doctor's stretched out over her, staring down at her like he's half a breath from lifting her skirt _right here_.

***

  
Rose turns her head to look at Jack. She's all flushed and tousled, with her breasts heaving as she gulps air. The moment the Doctor'd kissed her, Jack had used the controls to turn their booth's screen opaque. She notices it and smiles at him. His heart swells and he smiles back. His eyes are riveted to his lovers as Rose looks back at the Doctor. "You plannin' to finish this right here?" she asks the Time Lord. "Or should I tell Jack to pay our bill so we can go?" She arches her back, grinding up into their lover.

The Doctor's eyes close. There's a complex play of emotions across a face usually more closely-guarded than this. Time Lords are meant to have control over themselves and their desires--Jack's picked that up. But he and Rose have been pushing that control all night, just by being themselves and dressed the way they are. Part of Jack wants nothing more than to see Rose push the Doctor to those places he never meant to go; but ultimately, all of this is just foreplay: a warm-up to the main event. And the sooner they go back to the TARDIS, the sooner Jack will find out what that is.

The Doctor pushes slowly away from Rose, ending up on his knees beside the one leg in its tall boot that made it onto the bench when he tumbled her there. Jack can't enjoy the view quite the way he'd wish to with the table hiding part of his lovers from his eyes, but the way the Doctor's gaze lingers around Rose's hips makes him think her skirt did not decide to discreetly conceal her knickers when she fell back. Not by any means. The thought makes Jack rock forward a hair, which puts pressure in places that rather appreciate it. Another warm surge of pleasure travels up his spine and shivers out to his skin, and he smothers a moan.

It draws his partners' eyes. "Jack's suffering," Rose says. Her tone is mild, but her voice is husky with desire.

The Doctor shrugs. "Our Captain _likes_ suffering." He lifts her leg across his lap to let it slither down by its mate and helps her sit up in the booth. "Finish your drink," he suggests. The words make her draw a small, sharp breath, the visible pneumatic effects amplified by her bustier.

Jack watches the Time Lord watch their lover and thinks--just thinks--about sliding to his knees under the table. He's not sure which of them he wants more. He'd love to slide his hands above Rose's boots and pull her knickers aside. He wants to drag his tongue along all her most sensitive spots, making her squirm so her breasts are bobbing right there where the Doctor can't avoid watching. Or he could undo the button and zip on the Doctor's jeans and tongue his cock through the fabric of his pants, or maybe skip the preliminaries and just take the other man deep into throat, letting his lover use his mouth as it suits him, while Rose finishes her drink and watches.

Rose does pick up her drink, but before the cup even touches her lips, she looks at Jack's face and slips the loop of the leash around her wrist, twining the leather through her fingers. He breathes deeply and licks his lips. "What're you meant to remember, Jack?" she asks, quietly.

Jack swallows and closes his eyes. He shifts his hips so the toy moves inside him, letting his face and body react to the sensation, because he knows she's watching him, and that it pleases her. "I belong to you," he murmurs, his voice rough and taut with desire in his own ears. "And if I get slaughtered on the way back to the TARDIS because I can't run like this, you love me enough to come back for me."

There's a spluttering sound and a gasp or two that probably mean unfortunate things about his humor and Rose and her drink. If he's lucky, he'll pay for that later.

"Smart-arse," the Doctor says.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warm and fuzzy and just a little bent. Beta'd by Aibhinn.
> 
> Disclaimer: They're not mine; I just have radar.

They don’t move very fast on their way back to the TARDIS. Jack's walking carefully, with little gasps and shivers and moans, the discomfort of those tight trousers more than plain. It's a little funny and more than a little arousing. The Doctor's been waiting all night to be alone with his partners, and he's at the end of his patience. The second the TARDIS's door closes, he grabs Rose around the back and one thigh, lifting her against his body and seizing her mouth in a kiss. She wraps her legs around his waist, and the Doctor's never sure exactly how the three of them make it down the corridor.

Rose accused them of playing "the three bears" when they decided, earlier, which room they wanted when they returned from the club. The odds were good they'd be wanting a bed, and sometimes, it mattered whose. Rose's room was out of the running ("too feminine," "too pink," or "too messy"). The two humans still considered the Doctor's room as mostly private to him, and it was one of the few places on the TARDIS where the temperature had never been re-adjusted for human habitation ("too cold!"). Jack's room has more or less become "their room," by default. But now, they stumble into the Doctor's bedroom, which the TARDIS is, as agreed, keeping warmer than usual.

There's also a selection of impact toys Jack and the Doctor talked about in a box under the bed. Not that the Doctor's thinking about that as he half-sits, half-falls onto the bed and buries his face in Rose's cleavage, reveling in the scent of her. She sighs and shivers, the heat of her body and the taste of her skin inviting him to strip off her skirt and knickers and remind himself she's _his_.

Except she's not just his. She's _theirs_. He lifts his head in the same moment she turns hers and they look at their other lover. Jack's perched uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, watching them with eyes gone dark with desire and his hands clenching and unclenching in the duvet. The Doctor runs one hand over Rose's breast, disarranging the bustier just enough to expose her nipple. He looks back at his target before sucking it into his mouth, teasing with his lips and tongue and listening to Rose's moans. He draws away and blows a cool breath over the hot flesh, watching it pebble and tighten. "Out of those trousers, Captain," he tells their other lover, drawing the zip down the back of Rose's bustier and throwing it to the side before tasting the underside of her breast.

When he's licked most of that one, he starts on the other, listening to Jack making desperate little noises and enjoying the feel of Rose squirming in his arms. "Doctor," Rose gasps, her hands fluttering against and clinging to his shoulders and the back of his neck. "Jack . . . "

As sentences go, it's not much, but he understands. With one last, teasing nibble, he turns to look at Jack again. "You were pushing Rose tonight, Captain," he notes.

Jack bites his lip. He's got his hands wrapped in the bedclothes again, the Doctor notes. Probably to keep from touching his flagrant hard-on, since he still hasn't been given permission. "I'm sorry, Doctor," he says. "I'm sorry, Rose."

Rose's hands slide under the Doctor's jacket, trying to push it off his shoulders. "Ought to punish you," she mutters, "but I've got a few other things on my mind at the moment."

The Doctor lowers her into his lap and frees his arms from his jacket. "That's the _best_ punishment, Rose," he says, letting her draw his jumper off over his head. "For our Jack? Imagine him having to watch without helping. Having to touch himself, but not come."

Jack's imagining it, that's obvious enough from his unhappy little moan. Rose's kisses burn across the Doctor's chest and up his neck until she can't reach any higher. She tilts her head back and he bends to meet her mouth with his own. The kiss is hot and deep, her mouth surrendering to his tongue like it was made for him. Eventually, she pulls away enough to gasp, "Suits me. What he said, Jack." She watches their partner just long enough to see him swallow and wrap his hand lightly around his cock before she looks back at the Doctor. Her pupils are blown and she smells oh-so-ready for him. "You goin' to let me take my boots off?" she asks him.

He works his hands up under her skirt, playing his fingers over the textured lace of her knickers. "Your feet hurt?" he asks. She shakes her head. It makes other things shake, too. He rolls the two of them properly onto the bed, leaving her stretched out beneath him. "Good."

He draws her knickers down, never moving her skirt. He works them carefully over the tops of her boots and off. She parts her legs, obligingly, which is distracting enough he starts to skin out of his jeans and pants before realizing he's still wearing his boots. It's a small, subjective eternity to get himself sorted and everything off in the proper order. Beautiful, impatient, oh-so-human Rose tries to draw him up her body, but he settles his hands on her calves as he kneels between them and runs his thumbs slowly up the insides of her thighs. She squirms under his touch. Jack gasps softly at the sight. The Doctor stops for a moment at the hem of the short skirt, mostly to prove to himself that he _can_ , before lifting it just enough that he can see how ready she is. He stretches out on the bed with his face between her thighs and his hands wrapped around to hold her bum, angling her hips so he can taste her delicate folds.

It's not the sex that's important. Orgasms are extraordinarily pleasant, but so are jaffa cakes. Watching Rose's hips buck as he suckles at her clit: that has more value to him. Hearing her cry out as she comes is meaningful. Piercing her body with his own, feeling her arch under him, watching her face as she loses control over and over and knowing _he_ did that to her . . . _that's_ important.

Holding back each time she comes is a matter of patience. When he finally falls with her, he takes a glorious few moments to savour the sensations, propped on his elbows over her and smelling her skin and sweat. Then he bends some attention to limiting the surge of certain hormones that want to up their production, post-orgasmically, and pulls out of her, still hard, to lie beside her and hold her for a minute.

She makes happy, non-verbal little noises as he strokes her skin, cuddling against him. Jack and Rose are fascinated and amused by his ability to stay hard if he chooses, but they're used to it enough by now that Rose doesn't comment. The fascination goes back to that human drive for sex, which is ridiculous: it's pretty much a parlour trick. But occasionally, it's useful. They've left Jack suffering, after all.

Their partner's sitting on the foot of the bed, still watching them through eyes half-closed and torturing himself with small writhing motions and the barest of touches. There's a begging look to his eyes, and if they weren't playing this game, the Doctor would like nothing better than to grant his partner release and then roll the other man under him, wiping the memory of all those other eyes off Jack's body with his own. Instead, he looks down the length of Rose's body at their lover. "What do you want, Jack?"

Jack looks at him with guileless eyes, the pupils all but drowning the blue. The Time Lord watches him struggle for words. It takes several deep breaths before he manages, "PleaseletmepleaseyouDoctor."

They're not what he expected, but the words make some of the knot of annoyance that's been lurking in the Doctor's gut ease. And start to make up for those blasted trousers Jack was almost-wearing. The Doctor rolls onto his back and tucks a pillow under his head. Rose makes a small noise of protest, and he draws her close again. She curls up beside him with her head resting on his shoulder and watches them with lazy eyes. "All right, lad," he says, softly.

Jack draws a deep breath, his eyes closing for a moment. Then he opens them and crawls up the bed to his lovers, gasping and whimpering as the motion shifts Rose's little reminder inside him. He stretches himself out very carefully alongside the Doctor's legs, across from Rose. The Doctor watches his lover through half-lidded eyes as Jack tentatively laps at his cock. He breathes carefully and rides the shivers of pleasure as Jack drinks the taste of Rose off his skin. "That's right," he murmurs as Jack takes him into his mouth, keeping just enough focus through the pleasure of a very good blow job to watch and encourage his lover. Jack's going down to places where it's important for him to know he's doing well, and he really does have a very talented mouth . . . and throat . . .

The Doctor doesn't resist as his climax approaches. Rose plays one warm hand across his chest and toys with his nipples as the sensation builds low in his body. He lets his eyes close, lets himself thrust up into Jack's mouth once and twice because he knows Jack can take it, and cries out as he comes. This time, he allows his body's natural reactions, savouring the afterglow as Jack draws away and pillows his head on the Doctor's thigh and Rose occupies his mouth with lingering kisses.

Some minutes later, he looks down at Jack again. The human's waiting, rocking against the bed in a way that's surely leaving wet spots on the duvet. There's a tension in his frame, a need, that's both sex and not sex. The three of them started something at the club that's still not finished, and they can't leave Jack halfway like this.

The Doctor sits up in bed, drawing Rose with him. She's nestled in the curve of his arm like she was made to fit him, and she reaches across her body to stroke Jack's hair, where his head still rests in the Doctor's lap. "You're ours, Jack," the Doctor says, quietly. "That's not goin' to change unless you want it to. But you have to act like you know it. You don't get to bait us. I had to watch other people watch you-- _in those trousers_ \--all night. And then I had to watch them watch you _out_ of 'em, too."

"I'm sorry, Doctor," Jack whispers, never raising his eyes.

The Doctor strokes his shoulders. "If we punish you, it should be because we _want_ to punish you. And it's meant to be private, between us and you, and because you want it. Shouldn't have to put you on display and prove it to a crowd."

Jack sighs, brokenly. "Yes, Doctor. I'm sorry, Doctor."

"What do we do about this, Jack?" Rose asks.

The instinct's right, but the question's too complicated for Jack where he is now. "What should we do to you, Jack?" the Doctor asks. "For those trousers, and Rose's drink, and for pushing us."

Jack raises hesitant eyes to him, looking lost.

The Doctor kisses Rose's cheek and moves toward the edge of the bed, dislodging Jack as he goes. He puts his feet on the floor and then bends to pull a box out from under the bed. He sets it beside Jack and watches the other man's eyes fix on it. Jack knows what's in that box--he's the one who filled it. He kneels now, looking down at it so the Doctor can't read his eyes. The Doctor sits on the edge of the bed. "Open it," he says. Jack lifts the lid. Rose's eyes widen at some of what's inside. "You choose, Captain," the Doctor says, firmly.

Jack squirms a little against the pressure of Rose's toy. His shoulders heave as he breathes deeply. He draws out a woven leather rug beater and offers it to the Doctor. It's a vicious little tool: The Doctor has a more than reasonable idea what it'll do to human flesh, and that's not somewhere to start--it's somewhere to finish. "You want welts, Captain?" he asks, quietly. Rose gives him a faintly alarmed look, and Jack nods, slightly. "Then you shouldn't have made Rose choke on her drink." A startled giggle escapes Rose's lips. "Try again."

This time, the tool of choice is a short whip, its strands plaited into single length that's heavy at the end where it's meant to be held and tied into a short tassel at the other. It's still about pain, but it's not meant to damage, and the short, pliant length is oddly intimate. The Doctor looks at Rose to make sure she's okay with this. She gives him a little nod and he grins, suddenly. "I think he should apologize to you first," he says, softly. "You up for more?"

She blushes a bit, but nods.

***

  
Rose ends up lounging back against the Doctor's headboard with her skirt pushed up around her waist and Jack apologizing with his head between her thighs. The toy tormenting Jack's prostate has gone its merry way, and the Doctor's sitting below her feet with Jack stretched out over his lap. The soft smack of hand against arse is a surreal counterpoint to Jack's tongue. Rose isn't sure about this business of warmth and blood flow to the muscles before the Doctor uses anything as serious as that whip on him, but there's no doubt Jack's enjoying being stretched out between them like this.

He's also fiendishly good with his tongue--she's been having him teach her some of those things he does to the Doctor--and her body will only go so much farther, having already been through this with the Doctor in a very intense mood. After the first few times, when she comes, she feels the world start to retreat a little. "Enough," she gasps. "Stop there. Enough." Her eyes are closed and she knows Jack's been dragged away from her as she rests there, waiting to feel like she can move again. She has a vague impulse to play her fingers over her skin while she recovers, but it'd take a certain amount of effort, and she's not sure how she feels about being watched, anyway.

When she opens her eyes, she finds Jack stretched out full-length on the bed and the Doctor kneeling beside him, giving him what he asked for. The whip leaves reddened flesh beneath it in a way that somehow looks more alarming than what her little slapper did, earlier. But there's a soft look to Jack's face she hardly ever sees, a relaxation and vulnerability one just doesn't find in Captain Jack Harkness outside of a bedroom, without his partners, and without restraint or pain--both of which seem to mean something entirely different to Jack than they do to most people.

It's not really about punishment, no matter how Jack was trying to wind them up at the club. If there was a punishment here, it was earlier, when they didn't let Jack touch them. But Jack has that desire to please his partners, and by this point, it's gone all the way to need. The Doctor's pretending to be upset so Jack can have that opportunity. Rose drags her boots off and scoots across the bed to rest Jack's head on her legs while the Doctor brings the whip down for him.

Jack's going somewhere and the Doctor's taking him there. Rose shivers as she watches her lovers, the memory of the Doctor's voice as he told her to take off her shirt playing along her nerves.

***

  
There's a still point in the center of Jack's head. It's dark there, and the silence is profound. Every centimeter of his skin tingles like it's new. Rose's fingers comb through his hair and she says something tender, though the sense of the words won't come. A cool hand brushes gently over the sensitized skin of his arse and he finds himself thrusting a little against the bed. A small, needy moan trickles into his ears. It probably belongs to him.

"Roll over, Jack," the Doctor says. He does, blindly, his eyes still closed. The pressure of the bed against the heat in his bum and thighs is a sweet ache. He resists wriggling into it and lies there, bonelessly. Small hands slip behind his neck, and then he finds his head pillowed on Rose's flesh again. He doesn't realize how near the Doctor is until he says, from very close to Jack's face, "Look at me, Jack."

Jack looks, blinking until storm-blue eyes come into focus in front of his. "That's it," the Doctor says, approvingly. Cool fingers close around Jack's cock. He whimpers and waits under his lover's touch. "I want you to come for us now, Jack. You're going to come, and then I'm going to fuck you until I can't remember anyone's eyes on you but ours."

The words go right past the rational part of Jack's brain and lodge at the base of his spine. "We want you, Jack," Rose says as the Doctor drags a hand along Jack's cock once and twice and then his back bows and everything goes white and there's just Rose's fingertips soothing his brow as his body lets go of the tension he's been carrying for them all evening.

It takes a while for the pleasure to recede. The Doctor's kissing him and petting him gently, his hands curved firmly around Jack's hips as he buries himself in his lover's body. Jack moans and sighs, letting the Doctor's gaze hold his own as the Time Lord moves in him. Words roll over him, the Doctor murmuring quietly that he's been good, that he's done very well, that he doesn't have to do anything right now but lie here and feel good. Jack does. Rose's kisses pepper his face and neck, and his eyes have closed again, but the Doctor doesn't mind, tells Jack that he's precious to them, that he's loved, that he's _theirs_.

Something less like pleasure and more like joy courses through Jack in waves as his lovers love him. He's no idea how long it goes on, or whose hand finds he's not spent after all and spends him, but eventually the Doctor thrusts raggedly and then stills over him. Jack knows a moment's regret as the Time Lord withdraws and settles beside him, not on top, but one long arm draws Rose close to his other side and Jack finds himself smiling, content to float there as they touch him and hold him.

Eventually, he sinks back into his body, his skin feeling like it belongs to him again. He rolls onto his side between the two and pulls Rose closer even as the Doctor works that long frame up against his back, maintaining skin contact. Jack kisses Rose's forehead. It makes her smile and tilt her face up so he'll kiss her lips, too. "Wow," he breathes as he draws away.

"Had a good night out, lad?" the Doctor asks, quietly amused.

"Yeah," he says, still a little vague. Rose smirks and bites his shoulder. He makes an appreciative noise. "And a better one _in_ ," he says.


	5. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here there be mild kink. This chapter also contains Yamx's prompt for a ficlet from the Support Stacie author auction, by prior arrangement. Prompt at the bottom so I don't spoil anybody. BR by Aibhinn.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own them; I just have radar.

"Did you mean it?" Rose asks.

The Doctor has his hands full of Belvan interlock cabling and an 87th-century pencil fuser, so he doesn't look up from the workbench when Rose walks into the room. "Mean what?" he asks, running the fuser around a six-way join.

He's so absorbed, he barely notices her pause. "When you told me I had fantastic breasts," she says, quietly.

It's so entirely not a question he's expecting at that moment that he almost drops the fuser. He turns it off and sets the mess of cabling on the workbench. "Do you really have to a--" He stops abruptly as he turns and sees her. She's wearing a short skirt he recognizes and high-heeled shoes, and mostly wearing a red bustier with black lace trim along the top. She rather looks like she might pop out of it if she sneezes. The effect is unintentional, but not unappealing. Quite the opposite. He automatically tries to suppress the way he reacts to her, and fails. Ridiculous. Time Lords don't have to be subject to such things. It's undignified.

Just as well he'd lost any hope of dignity when he came up with the ears on this regeneration. Preparing him for the future, they were.

Rose fills the silence by saying, "You were following Jack's lead, so I wasn't sure . . . if maybe you really wanted . . . " She trails off, blushing a little as he stares.

 _"Take off your shirt, Rose,"_ he remembers. _"You have fantastic breasts. I want you to play with them while I watch."_

It's an invitation, though the Doctor's not sure exactly what kind. She may be blushing, but her pheromones flavor the air with her arousal. "Did you want that?" he asks, surprised when he hears his voice half an octave lower than usual in his own ears.

She looks down, seems to decide that's a mistake, and tentatively lifts her eyes. "I don't know," she says. "Thought maybe I'd find out, instead of daydreaming and woolgathering when we're dodging catapult-shots of alien goo." She blushes more, no doubt remembering the moment that would have ended up with her covered in the caustic stuff if he hadn't yanked her out of the way.

He grins as he finally understands what's had her wits wandering for the past week. She looks away. He crosses the few feet between them and lays a hand on her shoulder. She shivers. "What do I do with you, Rose Tyler?" he wonders, letting whimsy color his voice. He's never really known what to do with Rose. She resists all attempts at direction, determined to do what she wants to do and grow as she wants to grow, and the results are fantastic.

She looks back up at him and shrugs. Her breasts follow the motion, her bustier hiding almost nothing.

But not quite as it should do. "You know, it's not meant to be worn like that," he says. She shakes her head a little, not following. He runs his thumb down over her collarbone and along the curve of one breast. She's watching his face as he slips his fingers into the bustier's low cup and draws out everything she's tucked down so hard, settling it where it wants to sit. She bites her lip and stands still for him as he lifts the other breast, the nipple hard in his hand. It leaves the line of the bustier just below her nipples, the stiff lace along the top brushing them and pointing out more than it conceals. "That's better," he says.

She swallows, never looking away. "Yes, Doctor," she says, breathily.

He shouldn't allow this. The difference in their ages is so great, it stops mattering, but the difference in experience, in confidence, in control . . . She's not had enough time to grow into herself, the way Jack has. He could run roughshod over her.

He looks into her eyes. Aroused, yes . . . and determined. There's nothing timid or uncertain about Rose's approach. She's always had a habit of keeping up with him, just because no one ever told her she can't.

He rolls one of her nipples between his fingertip and thumb. She makes a small noise. "If you want to do this, Rose, go find Jack and tell him he can watch." She stiffens a little--for all she's been sharing a bed with both of them, when she stops to think about it, she's still not very comfortable being watched. "Just like this," he adds, "no . . . rearranging anything." He looks down where her nipples poke at the lace. "You're perfect like this. Go get Jack, and then come to the bedroom."

He half-expects she'll walk away. He almost wants her to. Her breath shivers out of her in a sigh. She says, "Yes, Doctor."

***

  
It's not an invitation Jack's going to turn down, and he has to admit, he'd love to have seen the look on the Doctor's face when Rose propositioned him this way. There's no doubt in Jack's mind that it was Rose's idea. He hadn't meant it to draw a reaction when he'd got the Doctor to help him, well, demonstrate, but he'd seen her react, nonetheless. It was real and it was something she didn't understand, and Rose learned to understand things by doing.

And if it gave him an excuse to watch her arse in that very short skirt as he followed her to their bedroom, who was he to complain?

The bedroom door stands open. Rose slips inside and stands awkwardly by the bed. There's a straight-backed chair sitting beside her that wasn't there earlier. The Doctor's leaning back against a wall with his hands in his pockets, watching them come in with his eyes gone dark. Could be desire, could be worry--knowing the Doctor, it could be both: The Time Lord thinks too much. Jack tries not to grin and takes a seat in the armchair in the corner of the room.

"Sit in the chair, Rose," the Doctor says. Rose sits. She's not really yielding, not really taking his direction because she wants to, it's more like a challenge she won't back away from, and that might not go well. Jack frowns a little. There's an amused note in the Doctor's voice when he says, "With your legs spread apart, if you please." She swallows and spreads her legs so her feet are to both sides of the chair legs. That's a little better, and Jack can see she's turned on from here, thanks to the peep show her nipples are putting on behind the bustier's stiff lace.

"Lift your skirt," The Doctor says. He pushes away from the wall and walks silently around the foot of the bed to face her. Silently, because he's shed his boots already. Rose watches him, her fingers finding the hem of her skirt. "Slowly," he adds. "I want to see how much you want this."

It's a serious turn-on to watch Rose draw her skirt up her thighs, exposing herself for the Doctor, who draws a fingertip very lightly along the dark pink line between her legs. She whimpers a bit. Jack can't see the Time Lord's expression, but he pauses and sucks his fingertip clean. Jack shifts in his chair, trying to find some position in which his jeans aren't quite so uncomfortable. It's probably a lost cause.

The Doctor digs through his pockets for a moment and comes up with some small item Jack can't make out clearly from here. Rose's eyes fix on it. Her breath catches. "I remember that," she says, quietly.

"You do," the Doctor agrees, crouching down beside her. He lays the object over the soft curls between her legs and slides it down. Tendrils seem to writhe out from the almost fuzzy-looking form, latching onto sensitive bits of her and locking it in place over her clit. Her lover manipulates something on the toy itself and Rose shudders. "You were made for pleasure, Rose. Don't fight it."

She moans softly. "Whose bright idea was it to make a sonic sex toy?" she squeaks.

Jack smothers a laugh. Well, mostly. The Doctor gives him a dirty look, but a grin plays at the corner of the Time Lord's lips. "Enough of that," he says to Rose.

She whimpers, her hips twitching helplessly. "Sorry, Doctor," she manages. He tugs and pinches at her nipples and watches her squirm at close range. When she comes, helplessly, her back arching against the hard chair, the look on his face is rapt. It could be enough to inspire jealousy, except Jack's seen it aimed at both of them often enough since they became lovers. As her orgasm subsides, Rose gives the Doctor a pleading look.

"Lovely," the Doctor says. "But you'd look better over my knee." Rose shivers. "I know Jack's spanked you at least once." Just the once, actually. She'd never admitted to liking or not liking it. Jack rather thought she'd been too embarrassed to admit she might have enjoyed it. "I'd like to feel your skin warm under my hand as you came in my lap. Would you like that, Rose?"

Tension's building in Rose's body again. Jack wonders if she knows she's rocking slowly against the chair. "Yes, Doctor," she whispers.

***

  
She's not sure it hurts, but it does sting, and it's a little shocking each time the Doctor's hand comes down on her flesh. It's worse that she's on display with her arse up in the air, but the Doctor's lap feels very stable under her belly and thighs, and she finds herself relaxing against him as he sits in the chair she's so recently vacated.

The sting starts to be just one more sensation in a host of other sensations as she writhes in his lap. Part of her's just humiliated as she pushes into the tingle of the--vibrator? And when did the Doctor find time to be buying sex toys? She hates feeling like her body's gone traitor and she can't control it, but the Doctor's told her not to fight it, and she can hear his voice telling her how she looks under his hand, how hot it is to see her helpless with pleasure, how much he wants to see her come . . . and just like that, she does.

The second time's easier, and the third, though there's beginning to be a warm ache in her bum to go along with the sting. By the fourth time, he's just running his fingertips over her skin, and it's . . . amazing. She's gone mostly to jelly when he tells her to stand up.

She tries. She honestly does, but she's having a bit of trouble getting her knees to hold her weight and ends up kneeling on the floor beside him, instead. The height's not bad, but the angle's not good--she works her way around in front of him, wondering if she should just unzip his trousers or ask, first. "Doctor," she whispers, "I want . . . "

He reaches down and takes her chin in his hand, and suddenly, Rose can't breathe. Her heart's going a million miles a minute. She freezes, and she can't think what to tell him, except Jack's lecture on safe words comes to mind and she knows she's been stupid, and the Doctor's letting go of her chin even as she squeaks, "Jackie Tyler!"

***

  
Jack has no memory of crossing the room, he just knows he has Rose in his arms and the Doctor's three feet away from her. She's clinging to him and calming down. "Shh. Shh, it's okay, Rose. Are you with me?"

"Yeah," she says, her voice still a little high. "Yeah. Sorry, I . . . Wow. I didn't know I was goin' to do that." She looks over his shoulder. "Sorry, Doctor," she says, reaching out a hand for their partner.

The Doctor folds both of them into his arms. "Shame on you, Doctor," Jack says, keeping his voice dryly amused, because that's so much more productive than saying, _"I didn't realize I fell for_ idiots _."_

"I know," the Doctor says. "I know."

"Wasn't thinkin'," Rose said. "I knew the Doctor'd never hurt me. I never realized . . . " Jack strokes her back as she tries to verbalize what the Doctor'd just touched off, unwittingly.

"Doesn't matter," the Doctor said. "I should've insisted."

Jack kisses the nearest bit of each of his lovers that he can put his lips on and reaches between Rose's legs without ceremony to turn the sonic vibrator off. It comes away in his hand and he tosses it under the bed. "Hey, now, no good playing the blame-yourself game. It's almost as bad as the blame-each-other game. How 'bout we get off the floor, to spare Rose's knees, and try to figure out what went wrong, so it doesn't happen again."

"It won't," the Doctor says firmly, "because--"

"Don't you dare say we're not goin' to do this again," Rose interrupts. "Unless you really want not to."

"Enough," Jack says, trying to tug them both upward without letting go. He frees one hand and swats the Doctor's bum.

"Oi!" the Time Lord says, giving him an injured look. But he does get to his feet and then offers Rose a hand up.

Jack comes with her. "Onto the bed," he insists. "Nice, comfy place to cuddle Rose and make sure she picks a safe word. Because, no offense, Rose, but I don't ever want to think of your mother in this bedroom, ever again."

Rose smothers a little giggle, and even the Doctor smirks. She crawls onto the bed, no longer really conscious of her revealing clothing. She sits back against the headboard with the Doctor beside her, tucking her into that spot beneath his arm where she seems to fit so well.

Jack sits cross-legged at her feet and undoes the buckles on her shoes. She gives him a little smile as he takes the heels off her feet and drops them beside the bed. "For some reason," she says, softly, "when you held my chin, Doctor, I was back with Jimmy Stone for a second. We were fighting. He grabbed me." The Doctor looks away. "Don't look like that," she says. "You couldn't have known. _I_ didn't know." Jack takes one of her feet in his hands and starts rubbing it, gently. "And we've both grabbed Jack's chin like that."

"Which is why you need a safe word," Jack points out.

"I know," Rose says. "I was havin' fun up till then, so I'll think of one, later." She looks thoughtful. "I wanted . . . to please you, Doctor."

Jack's breath catches in his throat as he watches the Doctor lean over to kiss their lover's lips. "Rose," he says, softly, "everything about you pleases us."

 _ **\- fin -**_ __

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Yamx requested a moment of mild fail in a BDSM scene, the reaction, and the talking through it like responsible adults rather than letting it ruin all future kink for our trio.


End file.
